Book ends

I finished two books this weekend -- I had one of those sweeping "I will finish these books, dammit!" moments (though I'm still down Three Junes and Bad Behavior. Bygones). I had to fit the reading in as quiet time between screaming at various basketball games, and it may have been the only thing that saved me from certain death from pissedoffedness (a fatal condition).

First, I finished The Kite Runner, which is a sweet little story -- you know, if you like death and destruction and really, really sad shit. Okay, it was a good book, but not exactly a pick me up. It dragged a little in the middle, after what was a pretty stellar beginning, and then it picked up at the end for a little more misery and pain. No, seriously, a really good book.

Then I polished off Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, which Dave reviews better than I can, but I will say that I enjoyed it -- it was easy to read on the fly, and she wrote a few things that made me think (or at least pause). I really liked the last entry (You) -- perhaps because it ends, simply, "I was here, you see. I was." Which, it seems to me, is what all of us are trying to say, in one way or another.